It's general knowledge
by marinoa
Summary: A French artist visits an English loner. FrUk AU.


**It's general knowledge**

What people didn't understand, they considered different. And what they considered different, they feared. And what they feared, they wanted to destroy.

That was the reason why Arthur Kirkland was living deep in the forest, alone in his little cottage. People hated him, feared him, and he hated and feared them in return. It was like a cycle, never ending, impossible to get out of. Arthur had been trapped in that cycle for many years now, ever since he had been a ten year old kid.

Arthur was different from other people. He was different, because he was able to see faeries and unicorns and other magical creatures that other people couldn't see. There were people who said he was nuts, just a harmless madman, but then there were people who claimed that Arthur was dealing with sorcery, with the devil himself. Some even said he was a son of a devil, therefore born to be evil. They feared him and hated him, making him hate and fear in return. It was a cycle.

xXx

It was a dark and stormy autumn night. Arthur was sitting in his cottage, on the floor in front of his fireplace, wrapped in his dark green, almost black, cloak. He was staring into the fire, imagining flames forming figures of trees, animals and magical creatures. Figures of people.

Wind was tearing trees outside, rain was battering the roof and the windows (which he had draped) of his cottage, and it was thundering every now and then. Therefore, when Arthur heard a knocking sound from his door, he didn't bother rising to check if something had knocked it, since people never came to his place (whereof he was happy for; if they came, they would probably just burn everything –including him). Most likely the storm was just fooling his ears.

_Knock knock_. Arthur awaked. This time he was sure something _had_ knocked the door, this time louder, demanding him to open. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. Did one of unicorns want to get out of the rain? Well, hardly, since unicorns didn't like people much. A faerie then? It couldn't be one of the villagers…could it? Arthur rose and walked to the door. Hesitating for a moment, he opened it.

A stranger. Heart jumping to his throat Arthur quickly slammed the door shut and leaned against it. A stranger! A _man_ standing in front of his door! What the fuck was he there for? And how the hell had he found Arthur's place?

Again, a knock. Panting, uncertain what to do, Arthur just leaned against the door. What should he do? The man was alone and he was letting Arthur know that he was there, so perhaps he wasn't intended to do anything bad. But it could be a trap…

"This is the way to treat travellers here in England,_ oui_?"

The voice was browned off and Arthur snorted. The man was apparently a Frenchman. A real stranger, then. A _French _stranger, furthermore.

_Thump! _The Englishman stirred. "Will you let me in or not? I'm not British so I don't enjoy this storm, just in case you were wondering. Now get this door opened at once!" The voice was clearly annoyed but Arthur could hear the tiredness behind it. Perhaps he could let the man in, even if he was a foreign bastard. After all, he knew how it felt to be locked out. Besides, it was general knowledge that Frenchmen were as stubborn as asses no matter what you told them, and this one would hardly be an exception. Hesitatingly Arthur opened the door, first slightly, then wide enough for the man to step in. "Come in then," he uttered. "Though, I have always thought that frogs do enjoy the rain."

The man shot a glance at him from under his large hat, but quickly stepped in. "_Merci_," he said, emphasising the French word. Saying nothing Arthur closed the door, glaring at the Frenchman. What could you say to a stranger? Welcome? That would be both lame and lying. Make yourself at home? _Certainly_ not that. So, he chose to remain silent and just stare at the man from the door.

His guest was standing few steps away from him, impatiently shifting his weight from one leg to another when silence stretched between them. Finally, taking his large hat of and letting long, blond locks settle around his face, the Frenchman raised his brow. "Since it seems that you are not going to ask me who I am or if I'd like to make myself comfortable and have a cup of coffee or hot milk," He twisted a smile. "…I guess I'll just have to help myself." Turning around, the man took his cloak off and walked to the fireplace to place the cloth close to fire. Arthur furrowed his brows. The man had a backpack, rather big moreover. Who knew what he could have there? Weapons, maybe?

"…And Brits call themselves welcoming…" Arthur heard the Frenchman muttering and snorted. There he was, offering a warm place to stay, and that damned frog was complaining! Well… On the other hand, maybe the Frenchman _had _a point there.

"What do you want?" the Brit asked cautiously.

The man turned around and smiled. "Just a place to stay until the storm is over. May I spend the night here?"

"…Whatever," Arthur said. The man was most likely some kind of criminal, why else would he be wandering in the forest at this time? But Arthur had a kind of reputation himself, so maybe a lone man wouldn't try anything suspicious. And even if he did, well, it was not like Arthur was helpless.

Another wide smile. "Thank you very much; I would really be in trouble without you." The man sounded like he really meant what he had said, and for the first time the Brit met the stranger's eyes. They were so blue, so heavenly blue. Bright like the sky in the spring just before the summer, clear like the sky after a strong storm. Arthur blinked. "It's not like I had put my home in your way on purpose," he muttered, shrugging.

The blue eyes twinkled. "My name is Francis Bonnefoy, and I'm-"

"It's none of my business who you are," Arthur cut him off, not willing to end up listening to endless life stories. He had let the man in but it didn't mean he was ready to rub shoulders with him. And Arthur certainly didn't trust him. He walked past the Frenchman to the fireplace and sat down on the floor. "You can sit down," he said to the flames. After a moment of silence the man calling himself Francis sat beside him, savouring the warmth of the fire.

Silence fell upon them again, until Arthur marked that his guest was shivering despite the warming fire. No wonder – his clothes were all soaking because of the rain. Standing up, the Brit sighed and walked over to his closet. He chose the longest trousers he had (not that he had many of them) and a warm cloak, and tossed them to the Frenchman. "You can have these," he said. "Until your own clothes are dried."

Francis was taken aback by the sudden friendly gesture but recovered quickly. "Oh, thank you, _mon anglais_!" he said heartily, taking the clothes. Arthur turned his back to the Frenchman and looked around his home (making sure to not to see the man). Only one room with a bed, closet, small table and couple of wooden chairs; his place surely was not any kind of an inn. It seemed he would be spending this night on the floor; as much as he wanted, he couldn't let a traveller to sleep on the floor. Arthur sighed humbly and once being sure Francis was done with changing, he turned back to him.

"I don't have any bloody coffee," the Englishman began, "But I'll put some water boiling. I don't know if you can cope with a cup of tea but at least I'll have one." Putting a teapot on fire he glanced at the yawning Frenchman. "If you are tired you can sleep in my bed tonight," he added.

Francis' yawn immediately turned into a smirk. "Really~?" He eyed Arthur from head to toe. "With the greatest pleasure, _mon cher_, though I must say I'm a bit surprised."

As he saw Arthur's stunned face, Francis cracked up, bringing his hand to cover his face in a lame attempt to hide his amusement. Shutting his opened mouth, the Brit got over his shock and protectively folded his arms across his chest. "In my bed. _Without. Me_," he hissed angrily and silently cursed the blood rushing to his face.

"You are blushing~"

"Shut up! Or this tea will end up on your fucking smug French face." In order to hide his growing blush Arthur concentrated on pouring the tea into two cups. "Take it before I change my mind," he muttered, handing one of them to grinning Francis, who obeyed, though wincing. "I'm not used to drink this…liquid, but thank you anyway," the Frenchman uttered and sipped his drink. "Ugh."

"Don't drink it then," Arthur muttered, delicately tasting his own tea. To that their conversation ended and they sat saying nothing, listening to the sounds of storm, lost in their thoughts. It was late already, and just when Arthur was wondering if it was safe to sleep when having a stranger in his house, the said stranger broke the silence.

"May I ask why you are living alone in the middle of the forest?" As he asked the question something sprang to the Englishman's mind. Suddenly suspiciously he swivelled to the Frenchman. "How did you even find here?" he snapped.

Francis blinked, surprised by strong reaction. "I asked in a village if there were any inns or houses on the way to another village and they vaguely mentioned a cottage somewhere in the forest."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You spoke with the villagers? And they mentioned my place?"

"_Oui_."

The smaller man turned back to the fire, feeling somehow troubled. For a moment he said nothing, trying to find the right words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, with a hint of bitterness. "If you spoke with the villagers you probably know why I live here alone."

"…You are right."

"Then are you suicidal or what?" Arthur snorted. "They tell you about a freak and first thing you do is paying him a visit!"

Francis laughed. "Their opinion is just another side of the story."

Arthur looked at him. Was that man serious? "And what if they were right?"

The other man gave him an intense look. "Well then, are they?" he asked.

The gaze of blue eyes made the Brit feel uneasy. "N-no," he mumbled, not meeting the other's eyes. The villagers were wrong, but he _did_ see unicorns and faeries. If this man beside knew that, he would most likely agree with other people, and Arthur found that for some reason he didn't want that to happen.

"See?" Francis smiled gently. And to the amazement for both of them, Arthur returned the smile. When realizing what he was doing, the Englishman uttered laughter, making Francis chuckle. "You are cute when you smile, you should do it more," the Frenchman said.

Blush creeping on his cheeks, Arthur felt himself relaxing completely. "Shut up, frog." Yes, Francis might be a criminal, who new, but he wasn't one of the villagers. Unconsciously shifting a little closer to the Frenchman, Arthur decided to trust him enough to tell his name. "I'm Arthur," he said. "Arthur Kirkland."

He was given another warm smile. "And here I was wondering if you were ever going to tell me your name. Pleased to meet you, Arthur."

They fell to silence again, but this time it was not empty and awkward, but warm and relaxed instead. The storm started to sound like calming down a little, and the crackle and warmth of fire as warmth of his companion made Arthur feel unbelievably cosy. His eyelids started to feel heavy and he yawned.

Francis was the one to break the silence again. "What is _your _side of the story, Arthur?" he asked, looking at his host.

"None of your bloody business…" the Englishman muttered, but he was either too sleepy, or too slack to care, because before he knew, he was already telling the Frenchman about the secret magical creatures, like faeries and unicorns, and their lives. He even went as far as telling about his _own_ life first in the village, then in the forest. And Francis was listening, he really was _listening,_ and it seemed that the Frenchman even understood him somehow, since he didn't jump away in horror or disgust. Arthur just wished he wouldn't look at him with so intense eyes…

"You must be so lonely," Francis said quietly when Arthur had stopped talking. The smaller man shrugged. "Not really," he lied, avoiding the other's eyes. "…Well… Yes," he confessed seeing the Frenchman raising his eyebrow significantly. "But once I got used to it, it wasn't that bad. Faeries-"

Arthur broke off as Francis' arms wrapped around him, hugging him close to the Frenchman. "What the- Bloody frog, what are you doing!"

"I can't stand you being so alone, _mon cher_," Francis mumbled into his hair.

"You- _What?_" Arthur squirmed in order to free himself, but found it quite…comfortable being in the Frenchman's cuddle. "Let me go," he ordered, not really meaning his words.

"_Non_."

It was general knowledge that Frenchmen were as stubborn as asses no matter what you told them, so Arthur could as well relax in Francis' arms, right?

"Who are you?" he asked, vaguely marvelling how good and warm he felt with the other blonde. "Where are you travelling to?"

"Nowhere, everywhere," was the answer. "I'm an artist, just travelling around. My next destination is the village that should be a day or two walking from here."

"Why are you going there?" the Englishman asked drowsily, fingers unconsciously playing with Francis' cloak.

"I'm supposed to meet my friend there," the Frenchman replied.

"Oh." If Arthur hadn't been so sleepy, he would have been shocked how sad he suddenly felt. He closed his eyes. "Is he…or she… an artist too?"

"Mmm, kind of." The Frenchman chuckled. "He is from Spain."

Arthur said nothing; he was too tired to answer and he didn't know what to say, anyway. Everything around him, except the arms holding him, slowly faded away, as the Englishman drifted to sleep. Last thing he heard were Francis' words, but he was already asleep before they could reach his mind.

"Can I paint you, Arthur?"

Francis got no answer and he realized that the other man was asleep. Smiling gently at him he caressed the short hair away from the Brit's face. Absently humming an old song from his childhood, the Frenchman studied Arthur's young, beautiful face as he slowly stroked his hair. Francis had met countless people, but never someone like this small Englishman. Francis couldn't tell what was so special about the Brit, or name the feeling inside of him, but somehow this young man had touched his heart somewhere, where no one else could reach.

Arthur snuffled in his sleep and Francis smiled. He took better hold of the Brit and stood up, carried him to his bed and pulled the covers around him. Arthur looked so cute that Francis couldn't resist the urge to lightly kiss his forehead. Then he walked over to his backpack and opened it, looking quickly at the sleeping Englishman and after a moment of considering he took his paintbrushes and water-colours instead of the oil colours. He wanted to have a fresh and light result.

The storm outside calmed down.

xXx

A ray of light found its way to Arthur's face and woke him up. Slowly the Brit opened his eyes, rubbing them with his palms. Smacking his lips he sat up in his bed and looked around.

Around his empty room.

Well, not literally empty, all his stuff was on its place like it should be, but something was missing. Arthur leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. The Frenchman was gone. The clothes Arthur had borrowed him were laying on the chair, folded, but everything Francis had had with him was now gone with the Frenchman.

Of course. Francis _had_ said that he wanted just a place where to wait until the storm was over, and now the most beautiful sunlight was playing in his room.

Never had Arthur hated sunlight as much as he did now.

Sighing, he got up from his bed and walked to the fireplace. His teapot was on the fire, water hot in it, ready for making tea. If Francis was trying to be nice, he…he…well, he was, but… Shaking his head, Arthur looked around to find his teacups but instead saw something on his table. He went closer and made a sound of disbelief. It was _him_, sleeping peacefully like a child. He took the painting in his hands; Francis' name was written in the corner of it. Arthur looked at the painting more closely. The Frenchman was truly very skilful artist, he had to admit. To think that Arthur had lowered his guard enough to that frog to paint him! And to think that he had _fallen_ _asleep_ in his arms!

Arthur put the painting on the table. "…Bastard..." To his surprise he let out a small sob. "You could have at least said goodbye… Bloody frog."

He took a teacup and filled it with hot water. Just when he was looking for his tea box, he heard a light knock from his door. Heart jumping to his throat (for some other reason than scare) he ran to the door and hesitated only a fraction of a second before opening it.

It was Francis. Arthur couldn't help but stare at him, at the amazingly gorgeous man with already familiar, heavenly blue eyes. Blinking, he swallowed when Francis stepped inside and grabbed his shoulders, looking straight into his eyes with a serious face.

"Come with me."

It was general knowledge that Frenchmen were as stubborn as asses no matter what you told them, so arguing would be just waste of time, right?

X


End file.
